


Countdown to Launch

by OceanTheSoulRebel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Lingerie, M/M, Marriage, Not Canon Compliant, Sexting, Weddings, no s8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21760150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTheSoulRebel/pseuds/OceanTheSoulRebel
Summary: Shiro and Keith agree to live separately before the wedding, with the promise of not seeing each other until the ceremony, but that doesn't mean they can't have a little fun during their time apart. It does nothing for their libidos.Also known as, the fic in which everyone but the grooms is freaking out about the wedding, and the grooms are just getting freaky.
Relationships: Keith/shiro, Shiro/Keith
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67
Collections: Sheith Reverse Big Bang 2019





	Countdown to Launch

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sheith Reverse BB Wedding Comic](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/543259) by Voidslantern. 



> Written for the [Sheith Wedding Reverse Big Bang!](https://twitter.com/BangSheith)
> 
> Inspired by [Voidslantern](https://twitter.com/voidslantern)'s art, go check out her work!

_T-minus 40 Hours until launch_

**[Keith]**  
[Did you get a bag of ‘gifts’ from Matt, too?]  
[What the hell?]

Keith sends the text with a huff, deliberately not looking at the bags found on his bed. How did Matt even get in here, anyway? He couldn’t imagine Pidge helping him and bypassing the door code, not for this.

Or maybe especially for this, he thinks, eyeing the offending bags again.

The phone trills with an incoming notification.

 **[Shiro]**  
[What? I’m almost back, hold on.]  
[....Huh.]

 **[Keith]**  
[What’d you get?]

 **[Shiro]**  
[Uh, supplies. Lots of them.]

Keith rolls his eyes and sets the tablet down. "Supplies," he grumbles. His lips pull into a sneer, and Keith dumps the bags onto the bed. Shiro gets supplies, something sensible, but he knows his husband-to-be; Shiro’s probably staring into his bag, already pink-faced with embarrassment at the gift.

Matt would have to really lean in with Keith, hence the lingerie, but what Matt never understood is that Keith has nearly no embarrassment reflex. Hard to be embarrassed after the events of a life like Keith’s own, bouncing around homes for five years, followed by three years of dorm living, and then the war. No time for embarrassment.

The phone trills again.

 **[Shiro]**  
[What’d you get from our favorite troublemaker?]

 **[Shiro]**  
[Baby?]

 **[Keith]**  
[Lingerie]

It’s a long moment before the reply comes, but a rough thrill runs up Keith’s spine at the command.

 **[Shiro]**  
[Show me.]

Keith flops onto the bed. He pulls up a green number, a lacy teddy with black and white accents, and snaps a picture of it spread out on the blanket. If they’re still going to have to be separated for the next two days, Keith might as well make it fun. He sends the picture off and paws through the pile, pulling out another, a little gold thong that makes him laugh as he envisions fumbling into the tight material.

 **[Shiro]**  
[That gold one has possibilities...]  
[Looks… a touch small, though. Does it even fit?]

 **[Keith]**  
[You just want to see me in underwear, you pervert]  
[Don’t you know it’s bad luck to see the groom before the wedding?]

 **[Shiro]**  
[I dunno… Is seeing you an option?]

"Maybe if you’re good," Keith mutters under his breath as he types it out. He sends the text with a grin.

The next piece he picks up is a black silk one-piece. It’s cool against his skin, and it has some promise, even though the cut isn’t super flattering. He pulls it up to his torso and examines it in the mirror.

 **[Shiro]**  
[When aren’t I good? I’m an absolute angel.]

Another text comes a moment later.

 **[Shiro]**  
[I promise I’ll be good, baby. I’ll be so good. I just want to see you.]

 **[Keith]**  
[But tradition, Shiro. It’s sacred... or something.]

Keith can’t type without laughing. His mind’s eye flits to Shiro, imagines him staring forlornly at his phone. His laughter stutters to a breathy stop at Shiro’s answering text.

It’s a picture, and Shiro—god, Shiro looks so good. He’s grinning, that private smile only Keith gets to see in the solitude behind closed doors. His flesh arm is hiked up behind his head, showcasing the muscles of his chest and shoulders. Shiro’s metal hand drags his uniform’s undershirt up his tight abs from underneath his unbuttoned jacket.

Even this should be illegal, based on the things such a simple photo does to Keith’s stomach— and dick.

 **[Shiro]**  
[Do I have to beg, or will a ‘pretty please’ work?]

Keith’s mouth goes dry.

 **[Keith]**  
[God, yeah, okay]  
[Fuck, how am I so lucky?]

 **[Shiro]**  
[I wonder the same every day. You don’t know what you look like when you’re asleep, baby. I’m a lucky, lucky man.]

 **[Keith]**  
[Kiss-ass]

 **[Shiro]**  
[I would…]

Keith blushes and tosses the phone to the bed. He paws through the pile of lingerie and pulls out a new number, one that thankfully doesn’t remind him of any of the other pilots. His hand clenches thoughtfully around the material.

"Huh, that’s… that’s actually nice."

It’s a leather top, if only in name, rather than function. It reminds him of something a cowgirl in a bad spaghetti-western themed porn might wear. The corset is clearly made for women, with a plunging neckline trimmed with black fringe. The middle panels are red, with black sides smoothing over the hip and red accents along the rib cage.

"This might be easier with a second pair of hands," Keith mutters, but his eye is drawn to it even after tossing it aside.

Keith wants to see Shiro’s reaction when he wears this.

That’s the deciding factor. Keith slips his shirt over his head and tosses it aside, followed by his pants. The air in his borrowed room—technically his own room, but one Keith has long since abandoned in favor of living in Shiro’s much bigger Captain’s quarters—is cold and calming on his skin. Goosebumps aren’t exactly sexy, but he shudders, more at the feel of the leather in his hands than at the ambient temperature.

The phone trills again and heralds an incoming text. Keith ignores it in favor of loosening the corset’s ties, pulling them apart to slip the corset over his head. It molds to his ribcage effortlessly, butter-soft on his body, and flares a little over the lean swell of his hips. Keith reaches behind him to tighten the laces just enough to stay up without gaping on top.

It looks… Well. Keith never considered women’s clothes before. There wasn’t a reason to, after all. Sure, he’d had hand-me-down coats in neutral colors as a kid, living in foster homes, but once his ‘siblings’ had hit their growth spurts, that stopped.

But this isn’t a coat. It is…

"Fucking hot," Keith whispers. He runs his hands down his ribcage and shivers. It doesn’t fit perfectly - whoever fits into this has much bigger tits than Keith will ever have - but it does the job. Keith drapes himself artfully across his bed, pillowed by the assembled clothing pile, and takes a picture, carefully composed of the corset and the hint of his tenting briefs below it. He sends it without comment and lets his hands wander the rich leather.

Shiro’s reply doesn’t take long. Keith eagerly opens the message, only to find a picture that steals his breath. Shiro’s taken off his shirt entirely, revealing golden, muscular abs with a delicious treasure trail that breezes down toward his groin. His pants gape open at the placket of his unzipped fly, and his flesh hand trails down to dip just the tips of his fingers into the waistband of his boxers.

 _I really miss you, baby,_ is all Shiro’s next message says.

"Two can play at this game, huh?" Keith asks the empty room. One hand drifts down his abs toward his groin, skirting just around the line of his hardening cock. He wants to dip his tongue into every valley of Shiro’s abdomen, wants to lick his way over Shiro’s skin until Keith hears him threaten to break.

 **[Keith]**  
[Why did we agree to this stupid tradition, anyway? I want you here right now. What Lance doesn’t know won’t hurt him.]

He can hear Shiro’s breathy chuckle in the response.

 **[Shiro]**  
[I know. I want to be there, believe me, but we made a promise. It’s important to him.]  
[Show me more?]

Keith doesn’t move, only spreads his legs and angles the camera down to catch the way his hand cups his dick through his briefs. They coordinate with the corset, he realizes, giddy at the coincidence. He snaps a photo of himself, bucking into his hand through the red fabric, and sends it.

Shiro forgoes an answering text entirely and catches Keith off-guard. The phone beeps with an incoming call. _"None of this counts as seeing you,"_ Shiro insists instead of a greeting. His voice is strained and tight. _"This is only audio. That doesn’t count, right?"_

"Doesn’t count," Keith murmurs in agreement. He shuffles among the clothes that litter his bed. "Tell me what you’re doing."

A softly muttered _fuck_ comes through the line, and Shiro clears his throat. _"I’m, ah, my hand is on my cock. I wish it were your hand."_

"It is," Keith says, setting the phone to speakerphone and laying it beside him. He closes his eyes and slips his hand down and pushes his underwear down his hips, kicking them off. "What do you want me to do with it?"

Shiro groans into the phone. _"I want you to… Jesus, Keith."_

"Tell me, babe. Use your words."

The answering whine makes Keith’s cock bob, dripping pearls of pre-come along his pelvis and lower belly. The head drags along the fringe of the corset.

 _"I want your hands on me."_ Shiro swears faintly. _"I want your fingers."_

"Where?" Keith asks. His own hand fists around his cock and pulls in light, lazy strokes. "Where do you want them? Tell me so I can do it."

 _"Inside me."_ Keith can hear the click of Shiro’s throat as he swallows back a familiar groan, envisions Shiro easing his thick fingers inside his hole. _"God, Keith, baby, please..."_

A curl of possessiveness unfurls in Keith’s belly at the way the plea falls from Shiro’s tongue. He’s the only one to hear this, for forever, as of the day after tomorrow. Keith’s been the only one to hear Shiro worked up, to inspire him and push him toward bliss, for the three years since the war’s been over.

"Are you touching yourself?" Keith asks, voice husky even to his own ears. His breath shakes, and he tightens his fingers into a circle around the base of his cock.

Shiro’s laugh is weak and wobbly. _"What do you think?"_ he deadpans.

"Use both hands," Keith commands, voice soft. It’s not the first time they’ve done this over a phone or video feed, but each time feels special, risqué. Keith feels… confident, when they do, high on the knowledge that Shiro wants him _so much_. "You want my fingers, babe? You’ll have to just make do."

A low curse and a shuffling noise echo through the phone line; soon, Keith can hear the familiar sound of flesh on flesh, Shiro’s massive hands moving nice and slow, just how Shiro loves. _"Just for you, baby,"_ Shiro croons, his words trailing off to a groan.

It’s Keith’s turn to muffle a moan. "You don’t know how many of these things I’ve tried on, Shiro," Keith murmurs into the phone. "I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye, but Matt has surprisingly good taste. I’ve looked like a billion GAC in everything."

 _"You— _nnng_ —you always do, baby. Tell me. Tell me about your favorites so far."_ Shiro begging is Keith’s favorite sound, and Shiro knows it. _"Please?"_

Keith sinks into his pile of lace and silk. "There’s a lacy number I haven’t tried on, yet," he purrs. "A black silk and lace romper that’ll wrap me up, hugging every curve and muscle."

There’s a muffled, _fuck_ that falls from Shiro’s mouth. Keith strokes himself to the sound of Shiro’s heavy breathing and the rhythm of his hand that’s audible from here.

_"Baby, Keith, fuck…"_

Keith speeds up his own movements, twisting his hand on the upstroke. "God, Shiro," he pants. His hips buck up, driving him harder into his fist. "You sound so good, sweetheart. So good for me." Shiro makes an unintelligible noise that goes straight to Keith’s cock. He throbs in his own hand, pulse rabbit-fast at the base. "Don’t stop, don’t stop. I want to hear it. I want to hear you come, fucking your hands."

_"C-close… Ke… Kei—"_

Shiro breaks off on a keening moan, one as familiar to Keith’s ears as his own name. Keith can all but see it, how Shiro trembles and shakes. He imagines the sheen of sweat on Shiro’s skin, all golden from an earlier rare vacation day to the desert, just the two of them. Keith bites his lip until it bleeds.

 _"Wanna feel you,"_ Shiro murmurs into the phone, breathy and needy. _"Wanna see you, all dressed up like a present."_

"Just for you-ou-ou," Keith stammers. He drags his free hand down to cup tight around his balls, tugging and releasing in a familiar rhythm. So close, he’s so close—

 _"Just for me,"_ Shiro agrees, a touch of possession coloring his words.

The roughness of Shiro’s voice sends Keith over the edge. Keith shakes apart, thrusting up into his fist, coming in hot, thick ropes up his belly. _"Shiro,"_ he pants, shuddering through the orgasm. "Fuck, Shiro, fuck."

Keith collapses into the sheets, limp and boneless, heart stammering in his chest. If he’s not careful, he’ll soon merge with the fabric of the bedclothes and littered lingerie. Every muscle feels like it’s been snapped away from his skeleton, leaving him weak, breathless. On the other side of the phone, Shiro pants, coming down.

 _"Fuck,"_ Shiro finally sighs. His voice still shakes. He sighs and chuckles weakly. _"So… That was fun."_

"God." Keith throws his arm over his eyes. "How are we going to survive until the wedding?"

 _"We’ll figure it out,"_ Shiro says with a laugh. _"We always do."_ The smile is evident in his voice. _"I love you, baby. So much."_

Keith lets it wash over him. The words sink into the fibers of his being, aligning with something unnameable in him. "I love you, too, Shiro." He smiles. "Tell me about your day?"

* * *

_T-minus 24 hours until launch_

"—and that’s when—" Krolia cuts off, a wave of something washing up her spine.

"Krolia?" Sam asks.

"I—Sorry. Distracted. Where was I?"

Krolia continues the story, silently racking her brain. Something feels off, she decides, something familiar, something she should know. The knowledge doesn’t sit well in her stomach. Keith and Shiro’s wedding is tomorrow, and everything seems to have been handled.

It was going smoothly.

But years of espionage (and a healthy dose of paranoia) have taught her that things can go _too_ well.

"Have you seen Kosmo?" she asks, breaking through the commander’s laughter. He sobers at the question. "I just need to check on him for a moment."

"I—no, not that I know of. I haven’t seen Kosmo at all today," Sam says with a half-shrug. "I try not to ask questions; he’s the size of a horse, I’ll see him eventually. Why?"

"I just have a feeling," she says, and as she speaks, the weirdness coalesces in her belly. Krolia closes her eyes and focuses.

"A ‘feeling.’"

"Yes. Galra are sensitive in ways humans are not. I… don’t know how else to explain."

Sam is staring at her with his Curious Face when Krolia opens her eyes once more. "Is it a quintessence thing?" he asks, hushed. "Because I would love to learn more, for—"

"Yes, yes," Krolia huffs. "Kosmo is nearby—or was," she says with a grimace. "What I felt was familiar, like his teleportation. If I felt it, it means he was nearby." She crosses the short distance to the door and peers off into the hallway, scanning. They are in the lab nearest the Paladin wing, built for easy access between Pidge and her father.

And down the hall is the access door to the Paladin quarters.

A sense of dread builds in her stomach. Krolia pushes it aside, focusing on the familiar feeling of Kosmo that lingers on her senses.

"Come on," she says, "I’m going to follow him. You can come if you want."

"Great!" Sam scrabbles to his desk, cluttered with various tools and piles of paper. "I’ll just grab my—"

"No time!"

Krolia darts out of the lab and races toward the hangar, unheeding of whether Sam follows.

* * *

_T-minus 24 hours until launch_

Space Wolf pops into Yellow Wolf’s den with a quiet _whoosh_. He can smell something, something that smells like His Boy’s Boy, White Wolf.

Why does Yellow Wolf have White Wolf?

Space Wolf’s hackles raise, and he growls quietly, the sound rumbling deep and expansive in his chest.

He creeps through the room, sniffing at the fur-coverings and outside-bones that litter Yellow’s den. They also smell like Green Wolf, the runt, the smart one. Space Wolf likes Green—she’s like him, quick and fun. He snuffles at one of Green’s outside-bones and considers licking her fur into standing upright the next time he sees her.

Focus. White Wolf is missing, and it makes His Boy sad.

Space Wolf sniffs his way through the room. Something tasty smells good off to the side, and he zeroes in on that with his eyes; it’s easy to see through the desk drawers to find the tasty crinkle-crack treats Green Wolf hides from her pack and mate. Drool builds on Space Wolf’s lips, and he pads over to investigate. It isn’t right to hoard resources from the pack, Space Wolf reasons.

He hooks his teeth on the drawer handle and pulls easily to reveal the crinkly goodness. With barely a thought, he snakes his tongue into the drawer and swipes open the folded-over bag. The treasure is revealed, and Space Wolf stuffs his face into the bag, chomping the food into his gaping maw with teeth and tongue.

When the crinkle-crack treats are gone, and his belly is nicely stuffed for the moment, Space Wolf turns back to the den. Something still smells like White Wolf. Space Wolf sneezes before cleaning his face, sniffing at the air.

There. Space Wolf finds it again, on the far wall. He bounds over the pile of soft-and-warm that the other wolves sleep on (like the pile he steals from His Boy and White Wolf when he wants to snuggle, but smells like Green and Yellow).

White Wolf is hiding in the small space, a bedside table. Space Wolf tilts his head and whines at the drawer. He paws at it, unable to get his teeth around the small handle, until, bored, he begins to beat at the whole structure. The drawer eventually jostles forward enough to let him fit his snout in and pull it further out.

The drawer smells like White Wolf and Space Wolf’s Boy, from a small blue-black box. Space Wolf gladly sticks it in his mouth and pulls it out, accidentally nudging the drawer closed in his excitement. White Wolf is back! How he got so small, Space Wolf will never know. The two-legged wolves are always doing something exciting. He has such a good pack, they are all so good.

When Space Wolf opens the box, he growls. It’s not White Wolf at all! The box only holds tiny collars!

Space Wolf hates collars. Why would they smell like White Wolf? Did White Wolf get them to put on Black Wolf, his precious boy?

The thought raises his hackles. He scoops the box up with his teeth and bats the drawer shut hard with his displeasure. White Wolf and Yellow Wolf, working together to collar His Boy like—like an animal!

He doesn’t like it.

With a snort, he _whooshes_ out of Yellow’s den. He knows where these things belong.

* * *

_T-minus 23 hours until launch_

Krolia’s Marmoran Viper isn’t meant to hold two, but Sam’s comparatively slight stature allows him to squeeze into the cockpit behind her. They lift off out of the hangar and race to follow the sensation in Krolia’s stomach, one that points her toward the West coast.

"What exactly do you feel?" Sam asks. He readies his notebook and clicks his pen in excitement.

"I—it’s a… hm." She shakes her head. "It’s a knowledge," Krolia tries, keeping her eyes on the nav system. "A certainty. Some can follow it, with enough focus and training, if the quintessence bond is familiar, or strong enough."

"And you think you can find Kosmo with this feeling?" Sam scribbles his notes frantically into his notebook.

"I know so," she corrects. "I lived with Kosmo and Keith for over two years. There was no choice but to become attuned to their quintessence signatures."

"Signatures!" Sam whistles lowly. "Are you saying there are unique quintessence patterns?"

"There are recognizable patterns, yes."

Krolia eyes the horizon and adjusts their heading. The niggling sensation she recognizes as the space wolf is growing in her middle until it threatens to disappear.

They’re here, but it’s unclear where "here" is.

"Touching down."

Krolia urges the Viper down, landing on a bared cliffside. The feeling that is Kosmo’s quintessence has died down but is still present. She climbs out of the jet, eyes squinting against a stiff breeze. Sam follows, silent as she moves toward the cliff-face.

"Can you feel it?" Sam sighs quietly at the shake of her head.

"No, but let’s see if Kosmo’s still around." Krolia sticks her hand out, waist-high and palm down, and gives a sharp four-toned whistle. Three, two, one—

The wolf bursts into being beneath her fingertips, and Krolia’s gut-feeling flares to life. She grins despite herself at the enthusiastic licking the wolf gives her face, stumbling under the weight of his massive paws when he rears up. Krolia bats ineffectively at his face for a moment before finally shoving him off. She wipes her face and watches Sam fare worse under the same treatment, being driven to his knees.

"Kosmo," Krolia chides. She snaps her fingers toward her feet. "Here."

He pulls away from Sam’s flailing form with a happy yip and falls in at Krolia’s side. The wind ruffles Krolia’s hair and brushes through Kosmo’s fur. It gives him an otherworldly effect, even on top of his neon blue markings and eerie eyes.

He yawns, and Kosmo’s gaping maw reminds Krolia of just how much the "space" of "space wolf" is a real thing.

"Kosmo," she says, "what were you doing out here? You know it makes the Garrison nervous, popping in and out of their borders." The wolf only cocks his head, visibly confused.

"Does he understand English?" Sam asks, awed. He writes something in his notebook. "Krolia?"

"To an extent, we think. Though," Krolia mutters dryly at Kosmo’s huff, "how much of it is selective hearing, I don’t know."

"Fascinating, just fascinating. Do you think Kosmo would mind if I took a sample of his—"

Kosmo growls, peering over his shoulder and grimacing at Sam, and Krolia chuckles. "I think that’s a yes."

She sobers, and her hand on Kosmo’s head pats him for his attention again. "What were you up to, troublemaker? You know the wedding is tomorrow. We don’t have time for fun and games."

Kosmo turns in a wide circle, his movements too serpentine to be quite earthly, and pops out of existence. A loud _woof_ sounds from the sea before them, waves crashing against the cliff’s craggy face, and a few steps bring Krolia closer to the edge. Kosmo darts into the rough surf with a wide doggy smile before poofing back up to where Krolia and Sam wait.

He drops a soggy velvet box at her feet, just before shaking the water from his dense fur.

"Kosmo!"

Krolia ignores Sam’s dismay and picks up the box, stomach growing tight with dread.

It’s empty. The ring box is empty, and Kosmo only looks up at her, happy, grinning.

She curses softly in Galran. "I can’t believe you," Krolia mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"What is it? Oh." Sam lets out a deep breath. "What are we going to tell the boys?"

"I… I don’t know. But you, Kosmo," she says, wagging her finger and feeling ridiculous for it, "are, as the kids say, ‘in deep shit.’" Kosmo deflates at that, his wagging tail flagging to drag, thumping, on the dusty ground.

"Come on, Sam," Krolia sighs. "We’ve got some work to do, I think. Do you know anything about forging?"

"F—forging? Oh, metals! No, but we have an experimental lab with a set-up that might work. What are you thinking?"

She eyes the empty box again before crushing it in her hand and stuffing the rubble in a pocket of her belt. "I think we can do better," Krolia declares. "Come on, Commander. We have work to do."

* * *

_T-minus 18 hours until launch_

**[Shiro]**  
[I swear to God, if I have to sit through one more meeting…]

He sends the text from under the table. It may be the day before the wedding, but Iverson gives Shiro and Keith no leeway. Iverson hauls Shiro into meeting after meeting and had even requested the paperwork to be resubmitted—Keith’s favorite—from their latest interstellar mission.

 **[Keith]**  
[Sounds like my line.]  
[Trade you, paperwork for a boring-ass meeting.]  
[Gladly.]

Shiro sighs under his breath. No, it’s not too ridiculous. There was an uprising during an event on the planet Ku’lix’e, where the Coalition was courting the local leaders. It was only by the grace of some higher power or a very, very good string of luck that the gunfire didn’t strike the Council of Governors or their membership. The visiting Coalition delegation was able to quell the violence.

Very, very lucky. Ku’lix’e is still a week’s travel from the nearest stable teludav from Earth.

 **[Shiro]**  
[I’ll make it, I’m sure. I just want to see you.]

 **[Keith]**  
[One more day, babe. We’ve just got to make it one more day.]

 **[Shiro]**  
[I wish you were here.]

 **[Keith]**  
[One more day. But if you’re good, I’ll send you a treat later.]

Shiro shifts in his seat. Commander Montgomery is a skilled woman, and an excellent diplomat, one of the finest to have come out from under the fire of the war. It should be a crime, what he’s doing, ignoring her. She’s even got the holo map of the planet and blueprints from the local Governor’s Manse up, detailing the events of the would-be uprising, and Shiro, well.

Shiro can only think with his dick at the moment.

Not his best attribute, this.

 **[Shiro]**  
[A treat?]

"Something to share with the class, _Captain_?" The commander sneers the last word with exasperation. Shiro shrinks under her glare. Montgomery was one of his harder professors, with a mind like a steel trap.

Shiro doesn’t like it when that trap gets turned on him, even almost a decade from Montgomery's tutelage.

"No, no, ma’am," he stammers out. Shiro shoves the phone into his pocket and straightens, aiming for the picture of innocence. Hushed snorts and Commander Montgomery’s darkening face tell him he’s missed his mark.

Shiro only lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when she turns her critical eyes from him and back to the presentation.

It’s a long two and a half hours, but his phone blinks with a notification when Shiro finally sprawls out the door and into the hallway.

 **[Keith]**  
[Tell me when you’re alone]

That alone has Shiro hustling toward his quarters. He keys himself in, locks the door behind him; Shiro wastes no time in shedding his clothes on his way to the bedroom. His dick twitches with interest as he considers Keith’s message.

 **[Shiro]**  
[I’m home now.]  
[It was excruciating, thinking of your ‘treat’ while trying to focus.]

Shiro flops onto the bed without any grace. His hand wanders to scratch idly across his abdomen, raking through the thin patch of hair that leads downward as he waits.

The phone trills with the notification of an incoming text. Shiro nearly drops it on his face in his haste to open it.

It’s…

"Jesus, baby," he breathes.

Keith’s kneeling on the bed, knees spread wantonly. He’s wearing what looks to be a tiny black thong that leaves _nothing_ to the imagination, paired with his old leather jacket and gloves. The sleeves of his jacket barely come up to his wrists anymore. It lays tight across his broad shoulders and comes to just the curve of his waist like a crop top. Keith snapped on his leather fingerless riding gloves just as the photo was taken, leaving him half in the moment, forever caught in the action.

The captioning text comes in next: _Wanna ride?_

 **[Shiro]**  
[Fucking hell, baby.]

He sends the text along with a picture of his rapidly hardening cock, outlined against the tightening material of his boxers.

 **[Shiro]**  
[All for you. Always.]

Keith’s responses come in rapid-fire.

 **[Keith]**  
[You’re such a sap.]  
[I wanna ride your face.]  
[Right the fuck now.]

Shiro’s gut clenches, and he drops the phone. "What Lance doesn’t know won’t hurt anyone," he groans to himself, draping his forearm across his eyes dramatically.

But they made a promise. Sort of. Kinda. Maybe Shiro and Keith didn’t actually promise and just humored Lance. Shiro doesn’t quite remember. _Hard to think straight at the moment,_ he thinks with a wry smile. His hand fumbles for the phone, and, concentrating, he manages a reply.

 **[Shiro]**  
[Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. I’m going to take you apart and make you scream.]

 **[Keith]**  
[I’ll hold you to it.]  
[I’ve gotta finish this paperwork, but I want you to fuck yourself, slowly. Can you do that for me? Be good for me?]

Shiro’s heart stammers in his throat.

 **[Keith]**  
[Think of my hands, my mouth, my dick. Think of what I’m gonna do to you when we get the chance.]  
[Wanna climb you like a fucking tree.]

Another picture comes in, this time of Keith mostly dressed in casual clothes, in what looks like the shared office the Paladins have commandeered. His trousers are tented, the outline of his dick straining against the drab fabric. Keith’s dragging his hand along his chest, his fingers pinching at his nipple, his head tilted back to bare his throat, his plush bottom lip caught between his teeth in a silent moan. His hooded gaze scorches the camera, and it’s the first time Shiro has seen Keith’s face in almost two days.

That alone makes his cock jump with arousal, dripping a thin bead of pre-come to catch on his boxers.

 **[Keith]**  
[Just think of me, stuck here until Hell freezes over, wishing I was there to take care of you.]

"Fuck," Shiro breathes. It’s not the most erotic picture Keith has ever sent him, not by a wide margin, but it’s… the best one, probably. The most ‘real’ of them.

 **[Shiro]**  
[Jesus, baby, the things you do to me.]

He sends the text as he fumbles for the end-table drawer with his Altean hand, blindly looking for the bottle of lube he knows is there. Shiro palms his free hand against his cock through his boxers with a soft whine.

 **[Keith]**  
[I want you to fuck yourself and imagine it’s me. I’m a simple man, I have simple needs.]

Shiro fumbles and drops the phone, unheeding of the noise it makes from among the blankets.

It’s embarrassingly easy to pop the cap and slick his fingers up, even one-handed. Shiro kicks off his boxers with barely a thought and rises to his knees before playing his slippery fingers around his hole, stroking and petting in turns. It’s not until his thighs tremble that Shiro finally sinks one finger inside.

"Fuck," he groans. The metal of his hand is a touch cooler than his body temperature, and the sensation is only heightened as his finger presses in deeper. Shiro bends, lowering his chest to the mattress, just how Keith would urge. His flesh hand tightens around the base of his cock; he’s so riled up he could come at any moment, and Shiro wants to draw it out as long as possible. His metal finger curls as it strokes in and out, widening his entrance enough to allow for a second slick finger to fill him. Shiro groans at the fullness and works to scissor himself open further.

 _"That’s it, babe,"_ Keith coos. _""Be nice and good to yourself."_

Shiro’s throat works around a keening moan, uncaring of the how or why of Keith’s voice, letting that honeyed gravel sink into his bones. His fingers find his prostate and curl into the sensitive flesh, sending a lightning-flash of dizzying desire up his spine. Fire pools in his belly.

 _"Keith,"_ he sobs.

 _""I wish I could see you, readying yourself for me."_ Keith’s voice shakes as he speaks, and he breathes hard into the phone. Shiro bats the phone closer, to better hear the frantic edge of Keith’s panting. _""I want to see you fuck yourself like this. You’re so beautiful when you’re needy."_

A third finger works its way into Shiro’s yielding hole, almost without his conscious say-so, and he cries out. His metal fingers press and curl insistently, lube dripping sloppily down his thighs. Shiro’s flesh hand trembles around his cock, tight but shaking where his fingers wrap around the base.

_""Are you ready for me, Shiro? Tell me what you need, sweetheart, and I’ll give it."_

The last words break off on a groan, and Shiro grunts, thrusting his fingers harder. His hand moves slowly on his cock, relieving and building pressure further. Precome pools on the bedspread, but he can’t bring himself to care.

"Ye-e-es," he pants. "Any— _ngk_ —anything, baby."

Keith huffs into the phone, his breath hitched and heavy. _""I’m on my knees for you, Shiro. I want you in my mouth so badly I can taste it, can taste your cock. That’s my fist you’re fucking, Takashi, getting ready to swallow you down."_ He swears, a muffled sound, and through his haze, Shiro hears the slow pull of a zipper. _"Fuck, baby," Keith murmurs, "I’d take you so well, let you fuck my mouth until you come down my throat—"_

"Keeeeeith!"

 _"That’s it, just like that. Twist those big fingers inside you, just how you know I would do it,"_ Keith commands. There’s a strained edge to his voice and fire blooms in Shiro’s gut, cascading like magma through his veins as he complies.

His hand glides over his cock, drawing out the growing pressure even as everything in him clenches tight tight tight. "I’m gonna—Keith, I’m gonna—"

_""Come down my throat, baby, I’m ready for you."_

The soft words pull him over the edge. Shiro bites back a scream as he comes, face buried in the blankets. His metal fingers pummel into him without mercy, and his flesh hand pulls and twists on his cock. His hips jerk erratically and cosmic white edges around his vision. Shiro comes, and comes, and comes, spilling everything he is onto the rumpled bedclothes.

He collapses onto his side, panting heavily. His fists clench and release unconsciously as he fights to stay awake, his brain shutting down from the force of his orgasm.

 _""Good boy,"_ Keith murmurs, and it stirs him awake again.

 _"Ngk,"_ Shiro groans. "That—that was… Wow."

_""Good?"_

"I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard by myself." Shiro wrinkles his nose, looking down at the messy sheets. "Did you…?"

 _""Oh yeah. You sounded amazing, couldn’t help myself."_ Keith chuckles, the sound a little nervous to Shiro’s ear. _"Probably shouldn’t have done that in the office, but oh well."_

Shiro yawns. "I love you, you know," he says. "Who called who?"

 _""I think you technically did? And thank God for that. Wouldn’t have missed that for the world."_ He sighs. _""But I do need to finish these reports—and clean myself up, ugh."_

"Mm, okay. Hunk insists on our bachelor parties. Maybe we can sneak around tonight?"

He can hear the smile in Keith’s voice. _""We’ll see,"_ Keith allows magnanimously. _"I love you. I can’t wait to see you in the morning. Two days is too long."_

Shiro nods, his eyelids heavy once more. "Love you," he murmurs into the phone and lets Keith’s answering chuckle send him to sleep.

* * *

_T-minus 16 hours until launch_

Hunk likes questions. He really does. Hunk will be the first to tell anyone, "Hey, if you have any questions, just ask, okay?" in a tone that’s been called a ‘scared animal’ voice, useful for calming bawling babies and spooked dogs alike.

He likes questions.

What he doesn’t like?

Not having _answers._

"Uh… guys?" No one answers. "Guys?" Hunk calls, louder, rounding the corner from his and Pidge’s might-as-well-be-shared suite.

Pidge looks up from her computer in the main Paladin common room. "What?" She prods Lance from where he’s putting the finishing touches on the wedding playlists. They look up at Hunk in unison, mutual curiosity and lack of sleep plain on both of their faces.

"Um, so don’t freak out. But I can’t find the rings."

Pidge blinks owlishly from behind her holoscreen. She shrugs. Hunk can feel his blood pressure begin to skyrocket.

Lance finally boots up to the question and screeches. ""Oh my god, you _what?"_

"It’s not like either of them are ring types of guys," Pidge says. Her fingers fly over her keyboard, unbothered by Hunk’s oncoming crisis. "Probably not a big deal, ultimately."

Hunk pinches the bridge of his nose. "Babe, while I’m always glad for that logical brain of yours," he groans, "Shiro specifically tasked me with holding onto the rings."

"Which doesn’t make sense," Lance interjects, "since Matt’s his best man and all. But seriously? You lost the rings, the night before the wedding?!"

"I didn’t _lose_ them!" Hunk crosses his arms over his chest. "I just… I don’t know where they are at the moment. Which means we need to tear the apartments apart. Now," he adds, growing increasingly nervous.

Both Lance and Pidge groan.

"But I’m not done with the playlists," Lance whines. "Allura and I disagree on how many songs per phase, and don’t get me started on what she’s decided she likes. She has worse taste in music than Mullet. And really, don’t get me started on that, either! You can’t build a good wedding playlist out of the old, _super old_ rock music he likes. My _grandpa’s_ grandpa didn’t even listen to that!"

A vein in Hunk’s temple beats out, double-time. "Lance," he says, clenching his teeth, "they’re _the rings_. Just please, man, please go tear your room apart. Just in case. Pidge, you too."

With that, Hunk runs off back to his suite.

Shiro trusted him. It was nice to be trusted; Shiro had asked him with such a brilliant smile, one that warmed Hunk’s heart. It would be the last time, though, if he didn’t figure out where the hell the rings went. Hunk’s stomach drops as he pulls the drawers out of his bedside table, where he had initially put the ring boxes.

"If I were a box, where would I be? C’mon, c’mon…"

They hadn’t been given to Matt, even though Matt was Shiro’s best man. Or kinda both of their best men. It was something like that. But at the end of the day, Shiro had come to Hunk for the safekeeping of the rings.

 _""Matt’s a bit of a prankster,"_ Shiro had said with a sheepish laugh. _"I don’t want to bother him with it, just in case, you know? He laughed when I got the rings in the first place."_

And they were pretty. Slim little platinum bands, apparently inset with the date they figured things out and became A Thing. Unobtrusive. Classy.

They were pretty, and they are not anywhere Hunk could have possibly put them.

A drawer rattles behind him, and Hunk nearly jumps out of his skin. "They’re not over there," Pidge says. "Where do you last remember putting them?" She pauses. "And did you eat my chips?"

Hunk flops onto his bed and scrubs his hands down his face. Shiro is going to murder him. It’s the night of their bachelor parties, and Shiro will want to make sure the rings are in existence. Hunk will have to say _"nope, sorry, I lost them,"_ and Shiro will absolutely murder him.

And then Krolia will murder Shiro for making Keith cry, all because Hunk got spacey and apparently threw the rings into the void.

"Uuuuuuuuuugh," is all he says.

Pidge sits down on the bed beside him, her hip bumping playfully against his own, and rubs his shoulder in consolation. "I was serious, though, out there," she offers. "I’ve known Shiro a long time, and he’s got ideas of tradition and the way things should be, but Keith isn’t a ring guy. Neither is Shiro, really, when left to his own devices. I don’t think it’ll be the end of the world, we’ll just have to tell him."

"Easy for you to say," Hunk grumbles. "Do you think Matt maybe…?"

She snorts. "Nah. Not his style."

"He killed the boys’ dorm power grid in my second year so he could play a _Killbot Phantasm_ game on a homemade computer. I think he could do anything."

Pidge shrugs, unfazed. "I just don’t think he’d do it. Video games are his weakness, not ruining Shiro’s plans. He’s the best man, anyway, why would he do it?"

Hunk peeks up at Pidge. "Because he didn’t get custody of the rings, probably one of the most important things to a wedding?"

"I just think you’re overthinking my brother’s capacity for evil." She pats his shoulder with a breezy quality to her smile that Hunk desperately wished he felt. "He’s a prankster, not a monster. He wouldn’t do something like that."

"...you wouldn’t either, right?"

"I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that, for the sake of our friendship and everything else."

"Right, right, sorry. I just—uuuuugh." Hunk thumps his head against the mattress. "Why does this have to happen. Why me, Pidge? Shiro’s gonna kill me."

She sighs. "Shiro’s not gonna kill you." Hunk’s halfway to smiling before she continues, "He’s just going to maim you a lot. I’m pretty sure he’d stop well before murder." She grimaces. "Well, I’ve been wrong about that before," Pidge says, face growing cloudy and voice darkening with memory.

"Hey," Hunk says sharply, "we agreed not to hold that against him. Shiro wasn’t himself back then. He’s been doing well in therapy, apparently, too." His tone softens, and he reaches up for Pidge’s face, fitting his hand against her cheek. "We all are, and it’s helped a lot. Right?"

"Right," she says, just as soft, rubbing into his palm.

"Anyway…" Hunk sighs. "I don’t know what to do, Pidge. What do I even say to him?"

"The truth?"

"Yeah, ‘cause that’ll go over well. ‘Sorry, buddy, something happened and the rings just…’" he trails off, frowning.

"...disappeared from thin air," Pidge follows. Her brow furrows. "Has anyone seen—"

"Kosmo!" they say in unison.

"Oh my god. Why? _Why_ would he take the rings? Keith is his favorite!" Who knows why a space wolf and probably an eldritch horror would do anything, though? It’s a moot point, and Hunk knows it. He thumps his head back into the mattress with a groan.

"What now?" Pidge asks, slight worry coloring her voice.

"I… I guess we go on with the show," Hunk says slowly. "I’ll tell Shiro tonight."

"Hey, lovebirds," Lance yells from the hallway, his voice harried with concern. "I can’t find them in our rooms or in the common room."

"It’s okay," Pidge calls back, twisting around herself to better face the door. "We’ll get it figured out."

_"That doesn’t sound very promising, Katie!"_

Allura shushes Lance from wherever she is, and Pidge shrugs. It is what it is.

Pidge turns back and moves her hand to Hunk’s hair, playing with his bangs. "It really will be okay," she tells him, and part of him believes her. "It’s not the end of the world."

"You’re the best," Hunk murmurs. Their hands find each other; Hunk squeezes around Pidge's slender fingers and looks up to study her face. "Wanna help me experiment on that damn wolf and get my exquisite revenge?"

"Wouldn’t miss it for the world," she says with a smile worthy of any classic mad scientist.

* * *

_T-0. Ignition._

_I really do look good in these,_ Keith thinks to himself, twisting to see his ass in the mirror where the lacy boxers cup his lean curves. He chuckles and reaches for his phone. "Thinking of you," he mutters as he types. One hand drifts down to toy with the waistband as he angles the phone with the other. The camera snaps delicately and captures the image.

He sends the photo and captioning text with a grin.

Today’s the first day of the rest of his life.

Everything in him trembles at that knowledge. In a handful of minutes, they’ll meet before their friends and family and make good on their pledges to each other.

“ _T-0,_ ” Keith murmurs to himself, his eyes lighting on the faded scar that jolts across his cheek in the mirror. His hands trail up to slide over the traditional Galran wedding plait his mother had already woven, wrangling his hair as best as she could.

He should get dressed. The sooner he’s dressed, the sooner he’s out in the hall, and the sooner he could try to get a peek at Shiro before the ceremony. Keith really should be doing _something_ —

Keith spies Matt’s gifted bags of lingerie, partially tucked into his closet. A thrum of arousal shudders up his spine.

Well. He does need to get dressed, after all.

With a grin, he retrieves the bags and dumps it out on his bed. His dick, apparently conditioned after only a couple days of playing in the frilly things, gives an interested twitch in his underwear. Keith snorts and paws through the pile.

He tosses various bits of lace and silk to the floor in his disinterest. Keith knows he saw something in here that intrigued him, that promised to cling and wrap around him like an embrace.

"Like a present," he mutters under his breath. Keith finds it by feel, the silk and lace threading through his fingers. "Yeah."

The romper is a simple thing, bits of fabric held together mostly by hope and ribbon. He kicks off his underwear and carefully pulls the romper up, mindful of its fragility. The shorts barely skim the tops of his thighs, and the waist is slim and edged with black ribbons. The top plunges into a sweetheart neckline that highlights his pectorals in a way that makes Keith's stomach curl with anticipation. The black lace of it sets off against his pale skin and makes him look… ethereal, almost fey-like.

He can’t wait for Shiro to see him in this.

A knock sounds at the door. "Keith? Are you ready?"

Keith scrambles from the mirror and dives back to the closet. His wedding suit, a gift from the McClain family, still hangs upon its door. "Uh, give me a sec, Mom," he calls back. Keith shimmies into the white slacks, almost falling as he does so, and hurries to throw on the included undershirt.

Sufficiently clothed, he collapses onto the bed and clears his throat. "Come on in, it’s open."

The door opens with a soft hiss and Krolia walks in, hands full of tiny flowers. "I found these and thought they might be nice for your hair." She stops in the middle of the room and eyes him critically. "Why aren’t you ready?"

"Got distracted," Keith croaks. It was true, but he doesn’t need his mother to know. He can feel a vibrant blush burn its way across his face already.

"Hmm," is all she says. Krolia holds up the tiny sprays of flowers, little blooms of purple, white, and yellow "I was thinking a crown, to usher in your new life together."

Keith wrinkles his nose. "Only if Shiro gets one, too," he says, then softens. "Yeah, that sounds good, Mom."

She hums and waits for him to make room on the bed. Krolia spreads the flowers out across her lap and swiftly twines them together. Keith watches, rapt.

"It’s a custom among many planet-bound Galra," she murmurs as she works. "A holdover from when Daibazaal still existed. Our people were—are—a warrior race, but there was still a softness to be found. The flowers symbolize our relationship to the planet and nature." She laughs. "Though I’m told Daibazaal had many poisonous plants—perhaps it was a test, to harvest enough for a crown."

"I didn’t know." Keith hands her another bloom and watches as she twists it into the rapidly growing string of flowers. "I want to learn more."

"You will," she promises. Krolia ties off the crown with a piece of ribbon pulled from a pocket somewhere and gently places it on Keith’s head. "I am so proud of you, son," Krolia says. Her voice wavers. "I’m sorry for not being here when you were young. You grew up so strong, but I still regret it."

"Hey, hey. It is what it is." Keith butts his forehead against her shoulder. "We’re here now."

Krolia smiles. "We are, aren’t we?" She shakes her head, her hair falling over her eyes, and turns back to her work. "Swiftly running out of time, though. Go, finish getting dressed. Only a few minutes left."

Keith rubs his brow against her shoulder again before getting up. The dress shirt fits like it was made for him, and maybe it was; Mrs. McClain is known to be a fine seamstress, and it wouldn’t surprise him, after everything.

The Paladins always manage to go above and beyond Keith’s expectations. Like Lance. He volunteered—no, _demanded_ —to be in charge of the music for the day, with input and influence from the others. Pidge offered to be the head of event security with her latest iteration of guard bots, and Sam and Colleen Holt had helped secure the site and were in charge of decorating. Allura and Coran spent weeks teaching Keith and Shiro to dance after someone let slip a remark about their lack of skills and the fact that most weddings have at least one dance. Hunk and his family were adamant about being in charge of the food.

And his mom was walking him down the aisle.

Keith may not have had much by way of family growing up, but he’s not without it any longer.

He lets the thought buoy him as he pulls on his vest, buttoning it up with trembling hands. Keith slips into the suit jacket.

"How do I look?" Keith asks quietly, smoothing the jacket down over his sides.

"Like the first sunrise. You look wonderful." Krolia unfolds from the bed and smooths down her own suit, a Blade uniform of high rank in black, blue, and purple. She crosses the short distance between them and pulls Keith in for a tight hug. "Thank you for asking me to be part of this."

Keith sniffles. "Mooom," he groans, "you’re gonna make me cry."

She squeezes tighter, until Keith gives a warning noise, before letting go. "Well, we can’t have that." She offers her arm, crooked at her side. "Shall we?"

Keith smiles. "Yeah," he says, "let’s go."

The halls of the ATLAS are nearly empty. It’s not surprising: the Garrison wants this wedding to go off without a hitch, just as much as he and Shiro do. A marriage between the Head of Voltron and the Captain of the Earth’s ATLAS has been something murmured about among Coalition circles for as long as the war has been over.

They also don’t see Shiro as they make their way. Keith deflates ever so slightly at that.

Krolia nudges him with her arm. "Let’s cut through the kitchens," she suggests. "I told Hunk I’d bring you by. He’s worried about your blood sugar… whatever that is."

"But—"

She arches a brow at him, pulling on all her height to loom above him. "You missed dinner last night, and you weren’t at breakfast today. You’re getting a past-rye."

"‘Pastry,’" Keith corrects, but he can’t help but smile. "Okay."

They wander to the kitchens, Keith following like a lovestruck duckling. Only a few minutes. He’d wolf down something easy, and soon enough, they would be out by the cliffs—the place Keith had realized he loved Shiro so long ago, after years of desert rides and picnics of contraband. Keith knows he wears some moony face but can’t bring himself to care as Krolia loads his waiting hand with a canape.

"Krolia, thank God," comes Hunk’s harried voice. "I don’t know how to tell you, but Kosm—uh, oh, ah, hey Keith, didn’t expect you."

"Food," Keith mumbles from around a spinach puff, eyeing another that Krolia holds so conveniently toward him. "What about Space Wolf?"

"Uhh… nothing," Hunk says. He spreads his hands placatingly. "Nothing at all. Why don’t you have another canape, buddy? I need to go check on—uh, something. Krolia, can I get an extra hand?"

Keith stuffs another puff into his mouth. He ignores the worried look Hunk tosses over his shoulders as he and Krolia scurry among the stoves and workspaces. No use in not keeping his strength up. His mom was right; he had skipped meals, finishing his work instead.

Today will be perfect, and no amount of last-minute report revisions from Iverson could ruin it. Nothing will.

Krolia emerges and swipes another hors d’oeuvre before they leave.

"All good?" Keith asks, eyeing it hungrily. She hands it over with a laugh.

"All good. Let’s ride?"

"I thought you’d never ask," Keith laughs. He stuffs the pastry in his mouth as they run to the Lions’ hangar bay. Keith mentally reaches for Black, who purrs in the back of his mind. She floods his mind with warmth, with visions of leaping and flying, paws skimming the earth’s surface.

"It’s amazing to see that," Krolia says. The doors loom ahead, and they slow. "Your eyes; your connection with her is strong."

"She just wants us all to be happy." He pauses and reaches further. Black purrs and nudges at him, the hangar door sliding open just as a low rumble from the other Lions trills up his spine. "They all do," Keith says, breathless.

Black is already alert and waiting for them when they enter the hangar, and it’s an easy thing to trot out into the afternoon light. "Watch this," Keith says. He wraps his hands around her controls with a well-worn grace. "Let’s go, girl," he murmurs to her console, flexing his fingers, and Black roars into motion.

They cross the desert in record time, galloping out among the dunes toward the cliffs. Krolia laughs at Black’s frenetic energy when she leaps and races between the scant clouds. Keith can feel Hunk and Yellow following close behind, their thundering footsteps like small earthquakes.

The other Lions are waiting for them when they arrive, eyes aglow with power. Black lets Keith and Krolia out as almost as soon as they touch down, just before the gathering crowd. The Paladins are waiting for him when they walk down from Black’s jaws.

"Congrats, Keith," Pidge says, barrelling into his chest. She wraps him in a tight hug, and the others follow suit, eyes shining with unshed tears. Keith finds himself in the middle of a mob, but for once, he doesn’t mind, petting and hugging whoever he can reach.

"Thanks, guys." He smiles, his own eyes wet. "Has anyone seen Shiro?"

"He’s on his way," Allura says. "Earth’s Coalition members thought it would be nice to have the ATLAS here, too, since the Lions would be here."

Keith huffs. "They’re turning my wedding into a photo op? Classy."

"Did you expect anything less?" Lance asks. He punches Keith’s shoulder lightly. "It’s the Coalition, man. Gotta set an example or something."

"Anyway," Hunk interrupts, "everyone who doesn’t currently have hands full needs to help move the food. Come on, guys. Sooner this is done, the sooner we can sit."

Three choruses of _""yes, sir!"_ answer Hunk’s command, and Keith smiles. A nudge somewhere in the back of his skull pulls him from the moment.

"Black?" His mind is filled with a vision of the Lions prowling like their Terran counterparts. Keith laughs. "Whatever you want, go for it. Just don’t scare anyone."

Satisfied, she purrs and lifts up on her feet. She and the others step carefully around the edges of the gathered attendees. Keith watches as the Lions take positions around the wedding bower. Red and Blue sit on their haunches on the right, with Green and Yellow mirroring them on the left, and Black towers above the arch itself, just behind where Iverson stands waiting.

Keith gives a short wave. Iverson nods stiffly but smiles nonetheless.

A familiar hum thrums through the air. A shudder trips over Keith’s skin in anticipation. "Shiro," he breathes.

The ATLAS crests the horizon like the mythic hero it’s named for. Its white hull is near-blinding in the late day sun, and the windows shimmer, caught in the sparkling sunlight. Goosebumps shiver along Keith’s arms as it lands.

Shiro always knows how to make an entrance.

"It’s time, Kit," Krolia says, appearing at his side. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah—yeah, I am." Keith grins.

The music changes, and it really is time. Iverson straightens below the bower. "All rise," he says, voice booming.

A trumpeting fanfare sounds out over the cliff-face and echoes in the nearby ravine. Krolia offers her arm once again. With a shaking breath, Keith winds his arm around hers and follows her lead down the aisle.

Murmured words rustle through the audience, Terran and foreign alike. Keith holds his head high, buoyed by the sound of ATLAS opening to let out its captain behind him. Every step forward brings him closer to his new life.

 _Mr. Keith Kogane-Shirogane._ After all these years, it’s almost enough to make him cry.

They reach the bower. Krolia and Keith turn to face each other, and she brushes her thumb over his collar affectionately. "I’m proud to lead you to this new adventure, Keith," she says, hushed. Krolia bends and kisses his brow, her breath fluttering the flowers of his crown. "Turn around." With a final nuzzle, she drops away and turns to find her seat at the front section of chairs.

Keith turns, and his heart stops.

Shiro walks with Sam Holt, their arms linked. He’s dressed similarly in white, and a matching ring of purple, yellow, and white flowers crowns his head. Shiro smiles at him, and Keith’s blood rushes in his ears.

 _I love you,_ Shiro mouths silently, and Keith can’t help the prickle of tears at his eyes.

Sam pats Shiro’s hand with evident love before drawing him into a hug. Shiro laughs, and their eyes meet over Sam’s shoulder, his gaze warm. Keith smiles and wipes his eyes as they share hushed words. Sam pats Shiro’s cheek with a smile and then turns away, finding his own seat among his family.

Shiro and Keith smile at each other.

"I love you," Shiro whispers.

"I love you, too," Keith replies, just as quiet.

Iverson clears his throat. "You may be seated. We are gathered here today to join these two men in matrimony before their friends and family," he begins, pulling a set of notes from a pocket. Keith focuses on the way the light hits Shiro’s eyes, the way the sun falls across his face as Iverson speaks.

Iverson’s paper rattles. "Now for the vows. Shiro?"

Shiro clears his throat and takes Keith’s hands. He squeezes them encouragingly. "Keith, I can’t—I can’t begin to tell you what you mean to me. Not in words, and not in action. You’ve been at my side through everything, and in my darkest, most dangerous moments, it was the thought of you that kept me going. You kept me alive, Keith. Every time."

The crowd gives a soft _ahh._

He continues, biting his lip. "I promise to always strive to show you, though, in words and actions. I promise that you will never be lonely, for I will always be at your side. What’s mine is yours, for better or for worse. Forever. I love you. You are the answer to every wish I ever made."

Keith sniffs and takes back one of his hands to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. "God, Shiro," he says, "warn a guy first." Everyone else laughs, and Shiro’s smile widens. Keith takes a deep breath to steady himself.

"Takashi Shirogane, I have loved you since I was sixteen years old. I didn’t know it then, but I do now. I will gladly walk beside you forever, into whatever comes for us next. I’ve become a better man because of you, because of your friendship and your love. I promise you that you will never be alone because I will find you as many times as it takes." Keith gives a watery smile. "Because I love you, Shiro, so much."

Iverson clears his throat again and shuffles through his notes. "Intro, vows," he mutters to himself, scanning the pages. "Oh, right. Rings?"

"Got ‘em," comes Hunk’s hushed whisper. Keith looks over his shoulder to find a small box traveling hands—it goes from Hunk to Pidge, to Allura, to Lance, to Coran. Finally, it comes to Matt, who takes the rings and brings them to Keith and Shiro. Matt opens the small velvet box with a fluttery handwave.

Shiro’s brow furrows for a beat before snapping back. He picks a ring from Matt, and Keith does the same. Together they take each other’s left hands to slide the rings into place upon their fingers.

"Do you, Keith Kogane, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" Iverson asks gruffly.

"I do," Keith murmurs.

"And do you, Takashi—"

"I do," Shiro interjects. He blushes. "I mean, well, yeah. Of course, I do."

"Hmpf. Then by the power vested in me, by the state of Arizona, I declare you two married— _finally._ You may kiss your husband."

"Thank god," Keith breathes. He and Shiro bridge the gap between them, Shiro’s hand tunneling into Keith’s hair, Keith’s hands gripping Shiro’s lapels for dear life.

"I almost thought I’d never get to do this," Shiro whispers. He tilts Keith’s head back into a kiss that burns its way across every one of Keith’s nerves.

Their audience whoops and hollers, and Keith smiles, his hands crawling up to Shiro’s neck to pull him further down.

* * *

_Liftoff._

While Shiro has never known a place quite like a real Heaven outside Keith’s embrace, he might have found it in a bite of macaroni and cheese. He must have some ridiculous face on because Keith laughs when he takes the fork away.

"You’re such a goof," Keith says with a smile. He takes his own bite of macaroni and almost moans, looking up at Shiro incredulously. "Okay," he says, mouth full, "I take that back." He swallows. "Hunk’s mom deserves a raise."

"I know, right? That reminds me, we should offer her an actual job so we can pay her." Shiro stuffs another forkful into his mouth as Keith laughs.

A tinkling of metal on glass sounds out over the din of dining and conversation, and the crowd hushes. Matt stands with his drink in hand and smirks.

"I’ve known these two idiots since before they’ve been idiots about each other," Matt begins. Keith snorts. "When Shiro first told me about him and Keith, I gave a sigh of relief. ‘Finally,’ you know? For as close as these two have been, being best friends and all that, it sure was good to hear that they were gonna make something more of that closeness.

“Shiro’s one of my best friends, you know,” Matt continues. “He’s been there for me through everything—through failed tests and classes, bad break ups, and… and worse, but he’s always been there. He’s one of the best guys I could ever have the pleasure of knowing. There’s no one else I’d love to be around more than this guy.”

Matt pauses to wipe his eyes with his thumb. He takes a breath, and Shiro’s heart squeezes just as much as he figures Matt’s must.

 _What a great friend,_ Shiro thinks.

“And Keith—ah, Keith. He was a tough nut to crack in the beginning, but we got there. You can charm any kid with enough candy and movie nights, even if half the stuff we had was contraband.”

“I knew it,” comes Iverson’s stage-whisper, and the audience ripples with laughter.

“Yeah, yeah,” Matt says with a flippant wave of his hand. “Well, it turns out that all that contraband did this guy well. Look at him now: blissfully in love with his best friend, and gracious enough to invite us all to see it. It looks good on you,” Matt declares, turning to the head table with a nod. He meets Shiro’s gaze with a smile.

“Here’s to the happy couple,” Matt cheers, and he lifts his glass. “To a happily ever after!”

Applause rings out over the desert at that, and the laughter starts up again. Shiro blushes and reaches for Keith’s hand, rubbing his thumb over Keith’s knuckles before bringing their hands up to brush a kiss over Keith’s fingers. "I love you."

"I love you," Keith says back. He rubs his thumb over Shiro’s wedding band and gives a moony smile.

Dinner goes on. Guests stand to give their own toasts and well-wishes, telling stories and jokes. Krolia and Sam approach the head table with matching smiles.

"Congratulations, you two," Sam says, a twinkle in his eye. "I’m so proud of you both."

"Thanks, Sam," Shiro says, blushing again. "I’m glad you could be here for us."

"Wouldn’t miss it for the world. You’re like a son to me, Shiro. You know that."

Shiro ducks his head with a smile.

Krolia clears her throat. "I wanted to talk to you about the rings." She turns her gaze on Keith. "Kosmo—"

_"Space Wolf—"_

"—decided to be a menace and stole the rings from Hunk. By the time I had felt his presence, Kosmo had already lost them."

"Then how…?" Keith starts, looking at his band quizzically.

Krolia and Sam share a look. "We made these rings," Sam says. His smile is beatific and proud. "The two of us!"

"I brought some luxite with me, with the intent of forging Shiro a blade," Krolia explains. "And Sam had access to titanium and silver. Together, we made a new set of rings for you."

"And they have some interesting side effects," Sam interjects, excitement clear in his voice. "The luxite wants to cling to itself, right? So the rings are almost magnetic, in a sense; they always will want to find their counterpart."

"Halves of a whole," Krolia confirms. "And they’re quintessence-sensitive, so they’re attuned now to your life-force." Her gaze softens, and she pats Keith’s hand. "So you’ll always know where to find each other."

"Wow," Shiro says, dumbstruck. He takes off his ring to better study it in the light. Shiro hadn’t noticed, but they do have some beautiful striated quality in the metal itself, like Damascus steel of old, but the original rings were made of meteorite and had a similar effect. Shiro can see it, now that he knows to look: the metals blend and fold around each other countless times to make a smooth ring, and two of those sit snugly around a band of a stable, fluid alloy.

"They’re beautiful, Mom. Thank you, both of you," Keith murmurs beside him.

"Galran and Terran," Sam says excitedly, "the first actual blending of our elements. Just think of the possibilities, boys!"

Krolia snorts. "Let’s leave them to their dinner, Sam. Congratulations, you two." With that, Krolia and Sam go back to the table reserved for family and Paladins.

Keith sighs, a joyful sound. "They’re beautiful. Never would have guessed Space Wolf stole the originals."

"He’s a force of nature," Shiro laughs. "Some primordial being. Maybe we need to appease him with more snacks."

"He’ll get fat!"

"I don’t know if it’s possible, he’ll just keep growing... Oh, God." Shiro’s voice drops to a horrified murmur. "Will he ever stop growing?"

Keith looks at him uncertainly. "I don’t think I wanna think about that right now."

They laugh, hesitant at first, but soon it breaks into something hilarious, clutching at each other’s hands, arms, shoulders to keep steady. Keith stares up at Shiro, eyes warm and twinkling in the light of the fairy lights and lanterns that flood the banquet area.

"Hey, you. Wanna get outta here?" Keith asks, low, leaning in close to breathe the words across Shiro’s ear. It sends goosebumps along Shiro’s spine, over his skin. "I’m wearing something you haven’t seen yet."

There’s a hunger to his words, and Shiro swears under his breath. There’s no way to gracefully escape from here, even as dinner winds down, but Shiro spies an exit strategy as dessert gets wheeled out from some hidden area.

Shiro nods. "I thought you’d never ask." The answering gleam in Keith’s eyes sets his blood on fire, and the way Keith’s canine sinks into the plush pad of his bottom lip doesn’t help. "Come on—let’s cut the cake and escape in the madness."

Keith laughs, throwing his head back, his throat working around the sound. Shiro stares, entranced.

"Cake, right," he reminds himself. Shiro tears away to find Matt’s gaze over the crowd, and a quick nod has Matt springing into action. He watches as Matt flags down Hunk and Mrs. Garrett for a quiet word.

Matt rises when he’s done and tinks his glass with his silverware again. "All right, everybody, the moment we’ve been waiting for—let’s have the happy couple cut the cake!"

The cake is a massive tower cut like the cliffs behind them and frosted into a sunset over the desert. It smells like vanilla and sugar when Shiro makes the first slice into the sweet confection. Just the scent makes Shiro's stomach gurgle with glee, already anticipating the sugar rush. Keith makes the second cut and helps remove the wedge onto their shared plate.

"Did you know there’s a tradition surrounding wedding cakes?" Shiro asks with a grin.

Keith shakes his head. "Uh, feed each other? Something like that?"

"Mm. Something like that," Shiro says, right before he scoops up a bite-sized piece from the plate and smears it across Keith’s mouth.

He almost thinks maybe that was a step too far, that he misjudged Keith’s comfort level, until Keith throws his head back and gives a belly laugh. Keith returns the favor with a great big handful, smooshing it against Shiro’s lips. The cake is as tasty as it looks, thank God, and Shiro can’t help the surprised burble of laughter that escapes him.

"You’re lucky I love you," Keith mock-threatens, dotting Shiro’s nose with an icing-clad finger.

"I am," Shiro sing-songs. He wipes his hand before pulling Keith in for a frosting flavored kiss. Voices rise in a chorus of _ohh_ and _ahh_ as they do.

"Let’s get outta here," Keith breathes against his lips. He licks a swipe of icing from across Shiro’s Cupid’s bow, and Shiro bites back a moan. His hands fist in Keith’s jacket, arms tight across Keith’s back.

Matt laughs somewhere behind them and declares it ‘definitely cake time.’

Shiro doesn’t look back when Keith tugs him away from the head table, leaving their dishes and cake forgotten.

* * *

Black is waiting for them, crouched low and jaw open. Keith pulls Shiro up the gangplank and is on him as soon as the door closes behind Shiro.

"Off, off, off," Keith chants, pushing Shiro’s suit jacket from his shoulders. His slim fingers pull apart the buttons of Shiro’s vest and toss it to the floor beside the coat, leaving him in just the dress shirt.

"God, baby," Shiro whines. He catches Keith’s hands and pulls him in for a kiss. "We have a room waiting."

"It’s been _days,_ Takashi," Keith murmurs into his mouth, and the softness of his voice on Shiro’s name has Shiro seeing stars.

"Two," Shiro protests feebly. Keith regains his hands and works at the buttons of Shiro’s shirt. Shiro lets him, lifting and twisting as Keith demands until he’s bare to the waist and hardening against the slim fit of his dress pants.

"Too long. Out of the pants, Shirogane."

Shiro laughs and acquiesces.

"Oh, thank you, God," Keith breathes, which makes Shiro stop short, a furious blush heating from his chest up to his cheeks. Keith’s hands draw up to skim over Shiro’s skin, trailing from his hips over his abs, up his obliques, up to his chest. His fingers catch on the stiffening peaks of Shiro’s nipples and he tweaks them, pulling a gasp from Shiro’s throat. He looks up from under sooty lashes, lips plush as he murmurs a soft, "I’ve missed you."

"Baby…"

All conscious thought flees Shiro’s brain when Keith pulls Shiro forward to the cockpit, gaze hot and full of promise.

Shiro can feel Black rumbling around him, through him, though weakly. She purrs in the back of his mind, welcoming, and Shiro appreciates her warmth even as he mentally shies away from it. She’s not offended—anything but, he thinks, as something like a laugh washes through him. Thoughts of home, of belonging, of completion flood his mind, and Keith’s sharp inhale and his white, glowing eyes tell Shiro he sees the same.

"Glad she approves," Shiro says, unable to think of anything else. It’s true—he is glad, and was quietly afraid, against all rational reason, that she wouldn’t find him acceptable for Keith. Black purrs again at the base of his skull as she lifts off, heedless of them both, and it warms something in his gut.

"Mm," is all Keith says, blinking away the connection to the Black Lion. "Didn’t you say something about making me scream?"

And with that, Shiro is laser-focused once more.

He stalks forward. Keith angles to the command console and his pilot’s chair, and Shiro follows rapturously, crossing the short distance between them. "Baby," he sing-songs breathily in just the tone he knows sets Keith on edge in the most Pavlovian way. "My sweet, precious baby."

When Keith stumbles into the chair, Shiro follows, crawling after him to steal his breath with a kiss. Shiro grinds down into Keith’s lap and drinks down the moan that spills from Keith’s lips. Keith wraps his slim hands around Shiro’s hips and _pulls_ , and it sends a thrill shivering down Shiro’s spine.

God, how Shiro loves the way Keith loves him.

"I want you," Keith says, biting his way into Shiro’s mouth. He punctuates his words with sinuous rolls of his hips.

"You have me," Shiro promises. "Forever."

Keith sinks a canine into the pad of Shiro’s lower lip and tugs just enough to sting. Shiro groans and lets Keith pull him further down until they lay flush and panting against each other. "You know what I mean," Keith all but growls, his voice like honeyed gravel.

"Seems like someone—" Shiro cuts off on a groan when Keith attacks his neck "—someone is overdressed," he wheezes. He bites back a laugh as Keith pushes him up and stands. He shimmies out of his own shirt, revealing a flash of black lace. The laughter dies in Shiro’s throat.

At Keith’s insistence, Shiro sits in the pilot’s chair, watching as more creamy skin is bared. Keith pulls his shirt over his head, forgoing the buttons entirely, and Shiro’s world narrows to the lace and silk that encases Keith from the waist up.

He swallows thickly. "Baby…" Shiro’s hands rise to slide over Keith’s sides, dragging over the thin material. "Hold on, let me… let me see you."

Keith’s hands stumble to a stop on his fly, and he lets Shiro move them away, curling at his sides. Shiro trails his fingers in the delicate lace, letting it rasp against his skin. Keith shivers, and Shiro does it again, veering down to play along the hard lines of Keith’s abs.

"Do you like it?"

"Do I…? God, baby," Shiro breathes, fascinated. His hands play at Keith’s hips, thumbing over the silk accents at his Adonis belt. "God…"

"Shiro." It comes out wounded, a punched-out little mewl. Keith tips his head back when Shiro’s hands quest lower, skimming over the placket of his dress pants.

The buttons come undone slowly, and Keith tilts his hips, enticing, too enticing, with each one’s release. Shiro bites his lip and focuses on the way they slip down Keith's legs with a hushed whisper, leaving him in the lace and silk one-piece.

"God, baby." Shiro slides from the chair to his knees and helps Keith kick off his pants. He nuzzles at the soft pouch of Keith’s belly, just above his pelvis. "You’re so good, so good to me, Keith," he murmurs against Keith’s skin. "Tell me what you want, baby, you deserve all the best things."

Keith leans back against the console. He winds his hands in Shiro’s hair, fingers tugging without direction. His breath hitches as Shiro ghosts lower, mouthing at the bulge of his cock through the fabric. "You— Jesus, just you, Shiro— _oh_!"

Shiro licks a stripe up the hard line of Keith’s cock. He laps greedily at the crown through the silk and the salty wet spot there. Keith moans, low and filthy in a way that Shiro wants imprinted into his memory forever. Shiro’s hands move to cup and knead his ass.

"Please…"

Shiro’s blood rushes in his ears as it plummets to his dick. He’s so hard it almost hurts, but Keith’s silhouetted against the stars, his hair wild and free where it twists out of his braid, staring down at him with eyes of molten glass.

"How attached are you to these?" Shiro asks, halfway desperate as he pinches the fabric between his fingers. Already he can hear the lace straining against Keith’s wriggling.

"‘M’not—"

Keith’s not done with the sentence when Shiro rips through the fabric, his metal fingers tearing into it easily. Shiro shreds the bottom half of the romper in seconds to the sound of Keith’s strangled gasp.

Keith shudders, his thighs quaking beneath Shiro’s hands. "Oh, fuck!"

"I’ll get you a new one," Shiro all but growls just before he sweeps his tongue up the underside of Keith’s newly freed cock. He mouths messily at the crown and flicks his tongue across the dripping slit. Keith’s fingers tighten in his hair, just shy of painful in the way Shiro loves.

His name drips from Keith’s mouth like a hushed litany. "God," Keith chokes out. Shiro looks up, not stopping his ministrations, and Keith bucks, almost like he can’t help himself. "Babe..."

"I’ve got you," is all Shiro says before taking him in, swallowing him down with a single breath.

Tears prick at Shiro’s eyes as Keith breaches his throat, heavy and solid on his tongue. Keith swears and trembles against him, in him. Shiro can feel how Keith shakes all the way back in his throat. Shiro palms at his own cock through his underwear and moves, mouth dragging along the velvet-steel length.

It’s easy for Keith to get overstimulated like this, for him to become a panting, shaking mess. Shiro uses that knowledge mercilessly, pulling off just until only the tip remains on his tongue before sinking down, again and again. It’s almost unfair, but the way Keith moans is worth it, helpless and quavering against the assault on his senses. Shiro’s fist flies over the leaking length of his cock as he works Keith over.

He pulls off, panting for breath after an ill-timed stroke. "I want—I want you to fuck my throat," Shiro rasps out. Keith’s eyes go Galra-sharp at that, and he licks his lips. Shiro watches, entranced, as a bead of sweat pools at Keith’s temple to drip down his face.

"I—fuck yeah. Fuck _yeah_ ," Keith mutters, nodding. He widens his stance slightly and leans into the console, bracing himself. Shiro’s cock jolts at the promise of his movements. "C’mere, babe."

He threads his cock into Shiro’s open mouth, batting the head against his lips for a moment before pushing between them. Shiro fights to keep his eyes open, gaze trained on Keith’s face. Keith hooks his thumb between Shiro’s lips and pulls his mouth open wide with a wounded noise.

"You’re so beautiful, Shiro," Keith growls, "and all mine." He pushes into the tight confines of Shiro’s throat on a groan.

It’s perfect, this. The way his fists tighten in Shiro’s hair, keeping him pinned in place. The way his hips roll, driving him deep into Shiro’s mouth. Spit drools down Shiro’s chin, but he keeps his mouth open, tonguing at Keith’s cock as best as he can.

"God—Shiro—I’m gonna—"

It’s all the warning Shiro gets. Keith pulls him down, burying Shiro’s nose in the coarse, musky hair at his base, and comes down his throat with a pained gasp. Shiro fights to relax, his hands tight enough on Keith’s hips to leave finger-shaped bruises. When Keith finally lets him go, Shiro pulls off, panting and coughing.

Keith falls to his knees and crawls up Shiro’s body to claim his lips. It’s possessive, filthy, dirty, and Shiro moans into the kiss. Keith’s hand slides between them to jerk Shiro off, and it’s a blissful few strokes before Shiro’s coming, his teeth sinking into Keith’s lip.

They tumble the short distance to the floor. Shiro leans against the pilot’s seat and pulls Keith after him without protest, heedless of the mess between them. Keith buries his face in Shiro’s neck.

"We’re married," Shiro says, awed, once he gathers the capacity to speak. His voice is a graveled mess.

"Mm. You’ll never get rid of me now." Keith lays a cluster of kisses at the junction of Shiro’s throat and shoulder. "Never."

"I would never dream of it. You’re my pole star, Keith, always leading me back where I belong."

Keith’s muffled laughter fills the cockpit. "God, you’re such a sap," he says. Keith kisses his way up Shiro’s throat to pepper his face with quick little pecks.

Shiro winds his fingers gently into Keith’s braided hair. "You’re gonna just have to deal with that forever, you know," he says, mock-serious.

"You promise?" Keith smiles, his eyes warm and bright in the low light.

"Yeah, Keith," Shiro breathes. He pulls Keith in for a kiss. "I promise," he breathes against his mouth.


End file.
